


With My Whole Heart

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: (offscreen) - Freeform, A Royal Affair, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Biblical References, Grief/Mourning, Judaism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Modern Royalty, No Incest, Wedding Night, jewish wedding ceremonies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the death of his father, Lieutenant Jonathan Ruben is betrothed and joined to the King of his country - only for his life to wither into an isolating misery. But when chance brings a handsome farm boy to the royal court, the king gains a fast companion, advisor, and friend. His spouse finds something far deeper, leading to a bitter conflict of power and jealousy that threatens to claim more than the two lovers as it's victims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With My Whole Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece several months ago, but was unable to come up with any significant continuing chapters. Hopefully receiving some positive feedback will help! Only constructive criticism, please. Thank you.
> 
> This began as a "Kings"/"A Royal Affair" AU, but has since expanded somewhat in my brain to include elements of "The Duchess." Regardless, I hope that it's enjoyable.
> 
> Lastly, we're just going to say that same-sex marriage (or, "unification") is traditional and normal in Gilboa for this 'verse.
> 
> The title is taken from Mumford and Sons' "White Blank Page."

The infinitesimal moment of possibility, the white parchment reaching out as if regardless of light or depth, the faintest premature drop of ink, and the pen scratched down with it’s first indelible marking. Too late to stop now.

 

 _It began,_ the pen told, _with the Union of the King._

 

~

 

 

The morning was frigid, frost glittering on the tinted windows of the limousine, as the wind tore and whipped at the orange flags mounted at the front of the car. Snow brushed over the black hood, piling over the sidewalks and atop the wool and fur-covered bodies of the cheering crowd. As if even a force as powerful to name as the elements had no authority to halt the coming event.

 

Blue eyes flickered over the masses, icy and cold as the roads outside the car.

 

“Look at them.” he murmured, voice hoarse to the point of abrasion. “What do they want...”

 

The blonde woman seated beside him offered something akin to a smile, readjusting her bracelets for the third time.

 

“To see you – why else?”

 

He huffed out a near silent laugh, utterly devoid of humor. A fog settled on the window. His lower lip curled, and when he spoke the words had devolved to a growl.

 

“Funny – I thought they were at war?”

 

“With every spell of darkness come moments of happiness, it does occur, now and then –“

 

“So what, he offers them... spectacle, for a day, while I do what, Mother darling? – Balance on a ball?“

 

“He – “ she cut in quickly, sliding nearer with a rustle of taffeta.  “- He gives them their... blood, their victories, their judgment, but you –“ gloved hands grasped his shoulders gently, turning him from the window to draw him in close. “ – You give them their joy. Something... beautiful, to look at, to make wishes on.”

 

Her eyes grew soft, compelling, as if comforting a lover, her thumb caressing his chin as she’d done years earlier, when he’d been a child.  

 

“Now you just charm him with that smile... and you leave the rest to me.”

 

His throat tightened, eyes glassy as he looked to his sister in the seat opposite, resplendent in their grandmother’s diamonds. Her gaze remained fixed to the upholstered floor, her lips pressed tight.

 

Their mother drew away with a last stroke to his cheek, her tone fondly reproachful.

 

“... He’s a good man, Jack.”

 

He turned to the window again, leaning heavily against the black leather cushions, saying nothing.

 

 

Outside, the hordes of thousands crushed close against the police barriers as the cameras created a storm of light through the sleet, all straining for a glimpse through the darkened glass as the car passed through the main gate, surrounded by the black-jacketed bodyguards on their motorcycles.  

 

 

Somewhere in the city, nineteen shots fired in a salute.

 

 

~

 

Miles to the north, it was snowing.

 

Mountains of white rose up alongside the sprawling path from the road to the garage, and the wide gravel-lined walk up to the house – the noble efforts of five ruddy haired boys clothed in years of hand-me-downs, wielding spades, amidst good natured grumbling and the occasional jibe. Two others scraped at the windows of the second-hand Behemoth, their faces pinked from the cold and the laughter as the focus grew less on work and further onto high spirits – the first snowball, no matter who threw it, was inevitable.

Fifteen minutes later, soaked, frozen, and breathless, all seven clambered through the screen door, mismatched rubber boots left amid piles of melting snow and frigid water by the kitchen sink. Their mother offered up a long suffering sigh, shooing them away from the scent of apples and brown sugar seeping from the full oven and into the family room, Unity Channel Four already blaring on the television.

 

_“... after Lieutenant Reuben and his family are greeted by the king. There is no word as yet as to whether Reverend Ephiram Samuels, of the Congregation of Silent Prayer, has been asked to officiate the final ceremonies, after his public statement denouncing the...”_

After a minute of playful shoving, the youngest found himself crushed between Abram and Shanon at the center of the overplush sofa, while Morgan, the collie, sprawled across their laps and panted from excitement. 

 

“-The mess in here’s going to be cleaned up later,” their mother called from behind the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.  “and I’d better see some progress on the car when I go outside –“

“Two scrapings done...” came the somewhat muffled reply from underneath the blanket of dog fur, as she emerged carrying a coffee pot and eight mugs on a tray.

The scramble was immediate.

“Hey, where’s the remote-?”

“Uh-uh – Mom wants to watch the ceremony –“

Several groaned.

“It’s history, boys – ‘s not everyday the king gets unified. There are people dying out there, we ought to take some time and appreciate the happy moments.”

The eldest – Elijah – gulped down his mouthful of coffee with a stifled smile to the youngest, his pet, who returned it with a smirk. Leave it to their mother to kill any lighthearted second with weighty words.

Suddenly the cheering onscreen doubled, and every eye turned back to the television.

“Here they come – “

 

~

 

The Hall seemed colder than the streets, somehow, though nearly every face wore a fixed, polite smile.

One of his mother’s gloved hands touched the cuff of his jacket - the brass cufflinks polished to gleaming – the tip of her finger tracing down his hand all the way to the knuckle.

“Relax.”

His sister sucked in a weary breath.

“What’s the very worst that can happen? – He doesn’t like you, the wasted banquets go to charity, and we all go home.”

“Michelle, for heaven’s sake –“ their mother hissed through the corner of her mouth, though the guardsmen lining the hall, simultaneously, drew the remainder of her reprimand to a halt – booted heels clicking on the marble tile as they snapped their rifles to attention.

“He’s here – the King approaches.” One of the faceless gaggle of cabinet ministers announced needlessly, seconds before the ring of footsteps echoed through the hall.

What had been a lump of ice in his gut expanded to swallow up the remainder of his insides, his heartbeat pounding frantically as he focused on the tiles at his feet, counting the veins in the marble. The grip on his wrist tightened, Rose’s smile pleasant, yet impassive.

The footsteps drew closer, as the sunlight from the colonnade pushed back the shadows and gradually revealed the form of a man. Outside, the trumpeters blew a fanfare, to medieval cheering from the crowd.

Jack knew the face – it was impossible to grow up a son of Gilboa otherwise. Lined, but not withered, hardened, but not stony – curling dark hair, now streaked with grey, and fierce eyes testament to a lingering shade of past handsomeness.

“Where’s Reverend Samuels?”

“Reverend Samuels isn’t here yet,” murmured the dark-skinned woman at the King’s side as she offered him a coat. He waved her off, scanning the assembly briefly – heads inclined as his eyes passed.

“Not like him to miss a crowd... We’ll just have to start without him –“

“He’s meant to sign the covenant.” She mentioned quietly. “We could hold for another fifteen minutes...”

“It’s cold outside, the people are cheering –“ his hand settled on the shoulder of a man in uniform, his face like carved oak wood. “And my general owes me a favor.”

“Very good, sir.”

Satisfied, the King turned back to his aide, only for his gaze to settle on the family like an afterthought.

Every heart in the chamber stilled.

 

On their thirteenth birthday – the one that mattered – Ambassador Ruben had taken his children across the continent to the Simeon Provinces, to the family’s hunting lodge. The region was famed for its big-game opportunities, and on one balmy morning Jack had watched his father gun down a bull elk from the balcony of the breakfast room. The newly minted thirteen-year old had hollered and grinned with the rest of the household, until he noticed Michelle half-hidden by the window drapes, her eyes streaming as the corpse was set upon by scavengers. Their curved beaks and talons had dug into the flesh, peeling it away to examine the tender insides, and when his mother had found him later, pale and shaky in the upstairs bathroom as he rinsed away the last traces of vomit, she had simply smiled in understanding and smoothed his hair.

If only she could have done the same in that moment, when he had become the corpse and the vultures had piercing grey eyes.

 

After a fraught moment, the King lifted an eyebrow and turned to the chancellor, who cleared his throat nervously.

“Sir, if –“

“He’s not going to be warm enough,” the monarch cut across calmly, before taking the lambskin coat from the aide and draping over the younger man’s shoulders, his hands lingering a fraction too long.

Jack could almost physically feel the emanation of his mother’s satisfaction. Sometimes it seemed as though she’d spent all her life wearing a gracious smile.

“Shall we?”

Lips tight, he tugged off the stainless white glove on his left hand, allowing himself a fraction of a second to note the bare index finger for the last time, before accepting the older man’s proffered arm.

“...Sir.”

They fell into step quietly towards the open balcony, and the roaring masses awaiting the death of Jonathan Ruben, and the birth of a consort.

 

~

 

 

The canopy was a rather ugly gunmetal grey satin, stained by the frozen rain, and tied off with sashes in patriotic orange clasped by the royal butterfly insignia, fashioned in hammered silver. They fluttered with the heavy wind onscreen, and stifled between his inattentive older brothers, David Shepherd couldn’t help but admire the resiliency of the monarchy – certainly any commoner would be forced to accept foul weather on the day of their union, but the king, never. Gilboan children were taught early to regard the Crown with the same level of reverence they did the Lord, and it was easy at a young age to confuse the two at a certain extent. Some shook it off as they grew older. Some farm boys never did.

“What th- he’s nearly a full head taller than him, didn’t they check?!” Shanon crowed out to general exclamation as the pack of Shiloh’s elite filed onto the pavilion, all wrapped in coats and scarves that could have bought the eight-member family at least a year’s worth of groceries apiece.

Most of the words of the Ceremony were deadened by the shouting of the crowds, despite the microphones hung under the canopy, magnifying the words – the most meaningful and intimate of an individual’s life, next to the coming of age – into the city and skies, and well beyond.

Perhaps they meant it to reach God Himself. David merely found it a little sad.

 

_“... as our kingdom was unified by war, let our King be unified by...”_

His mother came back through the swinging doors with a casserole dish full of cobbler. The live feed was forgotten in the rush for a rare treat, even Morgan poking her wet black nose towards the bowl in interest.

A few half-curious glances were thrown back to the screen, until roughly five minutes later, when their mother dropped to the arm of the sofa with a sound of admiration.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous...”

David briefly followed her gaze, the dog lapping at a smudge of brown sugar left on his lower lip, and silently agreed.

The Covenant had been illuminated in gilded writing on snow white parchment, and framed elaborately in gold – set on an easel for the audience of millions to admire as several government ministers, a dark-haired, thin-faced man in a smart business suit, a stern-looking army general, and a blonde woman dressed in a velvet coat that should have graced a fashion magazine each signed their names in turn at the bottom.

“If that’s what it should look like, you and Dad were nev’r united, Ma...” Ethan grubbed around a mouthful of apple and cinnamon, to an eyeroll from their mother.

The ring – magnified on screen for the viewers’ benefit – was a surprisingly simple gold band, but it seemed awe-inspiring somehow, perhaps embellished by the fact that the man lifting it for all to see also held the country in his palm.

 

“... _With this ring, you are made holy to me, for I love you as my soul – You are consecrated unto me, and you are now mine...”_

 

The ring didn’t quite fit – some good-natured chuckling could be heard from the group on the balcony, accidently caught by the microphones, though it was colored with obvious released tension. Someone from the cabinet – the chancellor, according to the station commentary, although the interest from the audience was minimal – closed with the benediction, and the masses present offered up their own, bellowing conclusion as the party withdrew, back into the depths of the capital building.

“Well, there you go boys – another consort after nearly sixteen years; Dishes _in the kitchen,_ please...”

 

 

~

 

 

The Grand Table seated at least one-hundred and sixty, and to the new Prince, nearly every one of them remained a stranger – including the man at his side, tearing into a piece of prime-rib with surprising gusto.

“... your highness?”

He glanced up to the voice on his left, the shredded salmon cold on his tongue. Swallowing was accomplished with some difficulty, as Hanson cleared his throat.

“Shall I –“

“It’s been a trying day for us all, Chancellor –“ his mother cut in smoothly. “Please, continue.”

Rose’s talent for charm never failed – he resumed with a smile.

“As I was saying... on the right, behind his Majesty – Miss Thomasina Issacs, personal secretary to the King. Technically only a senior aide, but with absolute authority.”

She lifted a perfectly manicured brow, eyeing the woman in question – she had exchanged her brocade suit-dress for an evening gown of violet silk, and by most accounts would have been called quite attractive, if not for the rather unsightly radio strapped to the shell of her ear.

“Useful, if a little... well. No matter. And...?”

Somewhere between the fish course and the fruit, Jack managed to let the table-tour mellow into a dull thrum, mechanically lifting each forkful of grease and glue to be crushed between his teeth.

There was something poetic, in a way, about the consumption of flesh. Taking the dead into yourself, to be remade anew. Leading an ignorant animal to the slaughter, to make it’s body your own...

Fuck poetry. It always wound up too heavy-handed after the first pretentious metaphor.

 

~

 

The plates were cleared after another hour, fruit sorbet exchanged for champagne and cocktails as the guests were permitted to mingle, the occasional higher ranking council man or endorsing billionaire offering up a toast and well-wishes for happiness, long life, the usual bullshit.

Jack managed to maintain the facade for a total of eleven impressive minutes before retreating to the south wall, on the pretext of admiring a silk-worked tapestry, allegedly – according to the brass plaque at the base – gifted to the crown by the Sampson Mahoney Foundation for the Blind. One of the perks of becoming royalty, he’d been assured in private – everyone willing to give you something better than the previous guy in line, simply to assert their own humility.

“They’re setting out better in the Chintz room, with the other presents...” a familiar voice murmured close by.

Michelle had visibly settled well into the new title, her petite frame swathed by sculptural blue satin, the family jewels still glittering at her ears and throat.

“Apparently someone thought you’d be needing a luxury broadloom carpet.”

His tongue curled skeptically behind his teeth.

“Were measures taken?”

“Already stuffed at the back of the closet.” She replied with an easy smirk, which faded slowly with another sip of champagne. He could see the wheels in her head slowly gearing up, preparing for another round, and his eyelids fluttered in resignation.

“Michelle –“

“When are we going to stop pretending? - ” she shot back, quietly, moving closer.

“A difference of four minutes isn’t as negotiable as they want to believe, and we both know it. There’s no –“

“It’s done.” He cut her off sharply, forcing himself not to take note of the way her eyes widened slightly at the tone. “They offered, I accepted, and I brought Father’s purse strings with me –it’s enough.”

“No – no, it isn’t.” she murmured back, “not when everyone in this room knows who would legally be in your place in any other circumstances – they can’t pick between children based solely on gen –“

“He’s the king, he could have the days of the week rearranged if he wanted – go back to Mother, play pretty princess, and stop nagging at me – it’s been a long two weeks.”

Her cupid-bow lips tightened into a wide-eyed glare.

“Are you really so selfish, you think you’re the only one who lost a father-?!”

“I’ve ceded my right to grieve, we all have – no one wants to watch us blubbering on camera, not when we just won the fucking life-lottery –“

“Something they never should have given _you_ in the first place!” she spat out viciously, startling them both.  

Immediately the momentary rage seemed to soften into something more mournful.

“I... I don’t mean that I – “

“I know.” He replied quickly, with an uncomfortable gulp of champagne, hoping in vain that it would be the close of the discussion.

One of her slim hands glided up the front of his dinner jacket, straightening the lapel briefly, the butterfly crest pin.

“I know we... never really took the time to discuss it, but...” she sucked in a breath. “Don’t think I didn’t notice over the past week – “

“Michelle, don’t –“

“I was too busy being angry over Father, but I know what you’d had to do, what Mother – I knew you were suffering, and I should have been –“

“You’re here now.” He interrupted, glancing up from the shallow dregs of his wine glass. “Call it enough.”

 

“Sir.”

Both siblings turned from the tapestry, meeting Thomasina’s heavy-lidded gaze.

 

“It’s time.”

 

Something in his throat locked shut, his sister quickly searching out his free hand and squeezing.

 

His only reply was a curt nod, but the aide seemed to understand as she led them from the Hall.

 

~

 

“He resets the bar, Silas...” the billionaire mentioned casually, in his usual cringe-inducing manner. “My sister raised her children well, and I can assure you –“

“Whatever crass comment you were about to make concerning my spouse, I’d just as well you restrained it until after I’ve fully digested my dinner.” The king muttered, his polite smile to the passing guests never wavering.

“Take a breath, William – your family has a title, I’ve held up my end of the bargain – go, mingle, see if you can’t ruin a few more lingering appetites by midnight. If you’ll excuse me...”

The backer was left narrow-eyed and spluttering to the nearby couples in an attempt to save face, as the King approached a dark-skinned man in a plain black suit who stood motionless by the bar, hands firmly set at his sides and eyes hard.

“Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

There was no response, only a seething intensity... and perhaps, a perplexing undercurrent of grief.

Silas paused a moment, swilling a mouthful of red wine.

“You and I... we’ve had our differences, but tonight we can agree – let the people escape from their horrors and find some happiness in that of their king, hm?”

A lined hand grasped the Reverend’s shoulder, only to be greeted with a wince. Silas continued to scan the crowd, unwavering.

“Go on the air, pronounce a national blessing, declare a feast day – something. Give them a commemoration –“

“No.”

His voice might as well have been tinged by sharpened lead, and for the first time in forty-eight hours Silas noted an internal flash of uncertainty.

“You’re refusing your king –“

“You are not my king.” The reverend growled back – the tone not colored by anger, but by simple, obvious grief. “Not anymore, not after what you have done... Or do you still want to pretend that I don’t know...?”

A jagged chill slipped down his spine, stiffening every limb as his mind spun and struggled for an answer. The ultimate effect was shallow, at best.

“Whatever steps I take for the good of this monarchy are of no concer-“

“You sacrificed innocent lives for the sake of the basest sin – destroyed a human soul for no other cause than the satisfaction of your own hunger!”

His mouth had gone dry, the liquor burning his throat without mercy as something frighteningly akin to dread dropped like a stone into his gut.

“....Am I to be given the blame for an unavoidable tragedy? It happened; the opportunity was there, and I took it – what’s done is done.”

“Before man – but not before God...” he snarled quietly, jaw tight. “I bring a message – in the eyes of the Lord, this... _union_ , born of foulest sin and bathed in sorrow, shall stand unconsecrated, unsanctified. Already the infection has taken root, and any path that from now you follow, shall open unto a pit of blood and ruin the likes of which this kingdom has not and will never see again.”

The reverend stepped aside slowly, his eyes unblinking.

“You have cast aside the will of God, so He casts you aside, as King now... and forever as a man. He will choose another, after His own heart – you have _none._ ”

With a last, mournful stare, the man stepped back into the swell of shimmering aristocracy, leaving the King half shaking, half enraged at the eye of the crowd.

“That’s what He says?...” Silas muttered quietly, before turning back towards the clusters of guests.

“Then to hell with God!”

Half the room turned to stare, shocked, as the echoes of the roar died into silence throughout the chamber, but the Reverend was nowhere in sight.

“Sir...”

He sighed, setting down the now essentially useless wine goblet on the first available flat surface. A muscle along the shoulder blade twinged painfully, eliciting a groan and a wince.

Thomasina allowed him a brief interval before resuming the schedule.

“Everything’s ready, sir. The family is awaiting your word before taking their leave – they’ll be lodged in the Mahogany and Emerald suites respectively.”

“Fine – let’s get it the hell over with, I doubt my back will survive the night.”

 

 

~

 

 

Their mother was going to wear a hole through the bedroom floor with her pacing, needlepoint heels click-clacking over the blue and gold carpet tile with increasing franticness.

Michelle straightened his collar for the thousandth time, offering up a smile that was likely meant to be reassuring, but merely came off as a wince.

Somehow Jack reminded himself to breathe.

The knock on the door nearly sent them all through the ceiling – Rose was the first to recover, gesturing urgently to the side exit with repeated glares to her daughter. She nodded silently, before turning to give his hand a final clutch, a whispered “It’ll be fine,” escaping her lips before their mother shooed her to the door – an almost perfectly concealed faux wall leading to the fire escape through a back corridor.

Rose waited a fraction of a second before pulling her son to his feet, elegant fingers stroking through dark hair as tears welled in her eyes...

The second knock sounded – the final warning. With a quiet sob, she kissed him gently on the mouth, and scuttled for the side door with a rustle of azure silk.

The air closed around him for a moment, his lips a little slack, and gradually sweat began to bead along his skin as the latch turned with a click.

Polished shoes slid along the velvet rug, the wearer discarding a damasked tie over the back of an intricately carved chaise in the corner.

 

Eyes to the floor, Jack bit at his already swollen lip before responding in kind.

“Sir.”

“Sit down.”

He did as instructed, the water-filled mattress rising up like a cloud.

 

~

 

**Author's Note:**

> * All elements of the unification ceremony were adapted from hebrew wedding rituals, including the exchanging of rings, and a ketubah signing. 
> 
> *Extra points to anyone who understood the Sampson reference. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please remember to leave feedback!


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